


Impulsive and Idiotic

by kassanovella



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Call me Supreme Leader, F/M, Face-Fucking, Hux is wounded, I actually wrote something about Hux, I want credit for this!, Oral Sex, Somebody save this baby's life--Somebody SAVE this BABY's LIFE!, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Fix-It, reader is a brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22053289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassanovella/pseuds/kassanovella
Summary: In your memory, there was a massive, crater-sized hole in Hux's chest, smoke billowing out of it in pillars. But you knew that couldn’t be true--after all, in this same memory, you, a complete stranger to him, rushed and crumbled at his side, and pressed your hand to the wound, seeking out life in his eyes.
Relationships: Armitage Hux & Reader, Armitage Hux & You, Armitage Hux/Reader, Armitage Hux/You
Comments: 27
Kudos: 364





	Impulsive and Idiotic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrauleinTora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrauleinTora/gifts).



“I found the mole.”

You weren’t sure if you heard the blaster go off before or after those words. Adrenaline had fueled you so completely you couldn’t even reconstruct the minutes prior to the shot--who was there, what they had been saying to you. All you can recall is watching, stone-still, as General Hux was blown back, collapsing in a limp, sparking heap only feet away from you. In your memory, there was a massive, crater-sized hole in his chest, smoke billowing out of it in pillars. But you knew that couldn’t be true--after all, in this same memory, you, a complete stranger to him, rushed and crumbled at his side, and pressed your hand to the wound, seeking out life in his eyes.

“Sir!” You cupped his cheek, forcing his line of sight in your direction. “Sir, are you okay?” 

The General groaned, hissing through clenched teeth and struggling to focus on who had come to his aid. “What are you doing?” His voice was decibels above a whisper. “Get me out of here, already!”

Heat searing your face, you nodded. “Yes, sir, General.” 

The control room had already resumed operations, the rest of the officers seemingly content to continue with duties while a body of a General lay on the ground. Allegiant General Pryde had discarded thoughts of Hux seconds after shooting him--you could no longer even find him in the room. Glancing around, you seemed to be the only person on the Steadfast remotely concerned. You held your breath, forcing your hands under Hux’s shoulders, hoping to guide him to his feet, but he growled.

“No,” he said. “Not like that. Drag me. Let them think I’m dead.”

You balked. “Uh, General--”

“ _Drag me_.”

“Yes--uh, yes, sir.”

At that, Hux went limp. You grasped his wrists, bending at the knees to make your job a little simpler, and pulled. He winced--the blaster shot hadn’t killed him, but it didn’t look comfortable, either. To your surprise, he was lighter than you anticipated, but still functioned as Lighter-Than-Anticipated dead weight. After a few seconds of pulling, your grip slipped, and you squealed, tumbling onto your ass. 

“General, please…”

Hux’s face twinged. Panicking, you scrambled to your feet, snatching his wrists again--this time, his hands grabbed your wrists, too. You weren’t sure how much blood needed to flood your face for it to change color, but at this point, you had about half of your supply there. 

Steeling yourself, you pulled again, throwing most of the work to your legs, and Hux glided across the glossy floor--within seconds, you’d both crossed through the blast doors, into the emptier hallway, where you continued to drag him.

“We’ll be at the medbay in a few moments, General,” you whispered. “It’s only--”

“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “We’re not going to the medbay.”

You swallowed. “We’re not?”

“No.” His voice was tight. “Get to an emergency pod.”

“Oh,” you said. “We’re escaping now, sir?”

“Pryde... doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Hux replied. “I’m not going to-- _argh_ \--stick around and watch him fail at my own expense.” 

“Right.” You didn’t want to make him talk any longer than necessary. But there was one last thing. “So, uh, _where_ are the emergency, like, escape ships, again?”

Hux’s neck twisted when he tried to meet your gaze from the ground. “You don’t know where the escape vessels are?”

Forcing a smile, you shook your head. “No?”

He looked toward the ceiling with a sigh. “Of course, my only ally is an imbecile.”

You blinked. _Was he serious_? “Oh, _I’m sorry_ , General,” you said. “Next time, maybe you can just drag yourself out of being shot point-blank.”

“I’m perfectly capable of it.”

“You’re perfectly capable of dragging yourself?” you replied, continuing to drag him in a random direction. “You sure seemed like it.”

“Let me go.” Hux jerked away, but you clutched hard to his arms. “Let me _go_!”

Gritting your teeth, you released him. “Fine!” This wasn’t going as you anticipated. You knew Hux to be prickly, but this was beyond stubborn. 

Hux huffed, rolling over and seething as he balanced himself on his hands and knees. The bandage on his leg continued to darken with his blood, and his torso seemed as if it had been seared, blackened. He must have been in incredible pain. Yet you wouldn’t know it--he steadied himself in silence, wobbling while he brought himself to two feet. 

You watched, mouth agape, unable to avoid staring at his red hair falling, tousled, across his forehead, the flushing of his cheeks that so resembled what you’d imagined many times prior to this moment. His lips, full and soft, were parted in a mixture of effort and frustration, his eyes wild with determination. Those eyes met your own, immobilizing you, and he smirked.

“I didn’t request your help, offi--” Hux stumbled before he finished his sentence, cursing himself as his knees hit the floor.

You sighed. “Come on, General,” you said. “I’ll get you there.”

“I’m _fine_.”

“Oh, yeah, obviously,” you sneered. And then, softer: “Please, sir.”

Hux leered at you, grappling with the smooth steel walls, bringing himself to stand again, and you were at his side, his arm draped over your shoulder. This closeness churned your stomach with some form of insect. Butterflies seemed inappropriate. You balanced him, curling an arm around his waist. He stepped, and you followed. To his credit, he was mostly correct--for the extent of his injuries, he was depending very little on your support. 

“Escape vessels are located on every floor, near the turbolifts,” he said. “We’ll use my code to access them.”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you know how to fly a ship?”

A pause. “Uh…”

“Do you know _anything_ about your job, officer?”

“Of course I do,” you replied, frowning. “But I only started on the Steadfast a few…” You paused. As anxiously as you wanted his approval, for as long as you’d been pining for it, you weren’t willing to get it by justifying yourself. “Is part of your job description getting shot, General? If so, you’re really exceeding expectations today.”

Hux tensed against you, but said nothing. “The vessels are mostly auto-pilot.”

“Yes, sir,” you said. “Just tell me where to set it for when we get there.”

The both of you hobbled together, Hux’s labored breathing filling the halls. You glanced at his torso. His black uniform hid the severity of his wound--but the gleaming of the fabric under the ship’s lights told you all you needed to know. It was wet. A terrified breath shivered in your chest. For the few weeks you’d been on the Steadfast, you’d grown… attached to the General. A crush seemed too childish to describe it, but the reality of your distant admiration seemed to leave it as the only appropriate term. It wasn’t just his beauty--though, of course, that had been a factor. It was his cunning, his wit. His sense of humor was dry and sharp, his expertise undermined by Pryde and Ren. 

You couldn’t believe you were so close to him, now, that _you_ were the one escorting him to escape. Of course, you trusted his judgement--but the level of damage he’d sustained concerned you. It would be awful to have to watch him die.

The next corner you turned, you were greeted by a massive, locked door with an emergency warning plastered over it. How had you missed these? Hux grunted, flinging himself off of you and against the wall, gasping for air as he typed away at the security pad. You winced, reaching for him, but he swatted you away. He finished, and the lights in the hall flickered red, turbolifts on either side of you stalling as their alarms cut through the air.

“Uh, General?” 

Hux growled. “They killed my access.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me repeat everything I say.”

“What are we going to do, though, sir?” You peeked around the corners--two lines of troopers were marching toward the origin of the alarm. “Sir?”

“ _What_?” he snarled, shooting you a glare. 

“Troopers are coming.”

Hux turned back toward the pad, typing in something else. “You must enjoy pointing out the obvious.”

“Oh, is that obvious?” you replied. “Incredible eyesight you have, General.”

“Of course it’s obvious, you _fool_.” He finished another code--nothing happened. “Troopers are trained to respond to any unsanctioned use of an emergency pod.”

“I have a feeling you weren’t expecting this to be unsanctioned.”

A muscle in his jaw tensed. “Every one of my codes is decommissioned.” Gaze narrowing, he slammed his fist against the wall. “I’ll just use Ren’s.”

Your eyes widened. “The Supreme Leader’s?” you asked. “You know his codes?”

“Of course I do,” Hux replied coolly, typing them in. “What kind of mole would I be if I didn’t?”

Concern nagged the back of your head. “Aren’t you worried about when he finds out you used his codes to escape?”

He snorted. “He’s as likely as the rest of us to end up dead before the end of this cycle.” With that, he hit enter, and the alarms stopped. 

The door whined when it opened, revealing the interior to a tiny, cube-shaped pod with multiple seating options. You glimpsed around the corner again--the troopers were closing in--seeing your face, they started running. One of them shouted out to you, ordering you to stop. Grimacing, you grabbed Hux’s shoulder, ignoring his protests, and pulled him into the ship. You both toppled on one of the rows of seating, and you clambered to the control panel, regarding it with complete resignation.

“Hit the button.” Hux crawled toward you, hampered by the wound in his chest.

“ _What_ button, sir?” There were a dozen buttons in front of you.

“Stop!” 

You turned around--the troopers had you in their sights, their blasters raised. 

“ _The_ button!” he said, pointing to a huge red button in the center of the console.

“Don’t move!” a trooper shouted.

You looked at Hux and dove, slamming your palm on the button--the doors flew shut, and you were thrown as the ship jettisoned forward, peeling away from the Steadfast using the two massive thrusters at its sides. The Star Destroyer became miniscule within a blink, and then the thrusters fell off, leaving smaller ion drives in control. The pod’s systems beeped, lights on the console awakening, and a prompt on the dash requested to know a destination.

“Where are we going, sir?” You glanced at Hux, who had deflated into his seat, face pale. Heart skipping, you leapt to his side, nudging him gently. His eyes, tired, met your own. “General?”

“I’m fine, officer.” His jaw was firm. “Just set a course for Arkanis.”

“Where’s that?”

He groaned. “Must you constantly remind me of how ignorant you are?”

You were growing weary of his snark. “I don’t have to put in anything on that prompt, you know.” 

“Discipline must be lacking in your unit,” he replied with a frown.

“If it is, it can only be the fault of those above me.”

Flouncing, you moved to the console and answered the prompt. The ship accepted it, and the engines whirred in response, controls moving independently. A long, quiet breath leaked from your nose, tension leaving with it. There was a desire to sit, but you resisted it, still too nervous to make yourself vulnerable. Why did you keep bickering with him? Fear nagged that you were driving him away; the silence in the ship worming its way into your mind. You were alone with General Hux, now--and you could swore you felt his stare sticking to you.

“Tell me your name.” 

Blushing, you spun, meeting his gaze. “Uh…” His curiosity seemed sincere. So you gave it to him.

He repeated it--somehow, it sounded superior on his tongue. “You’ve been serving the First Order for how long?”

“A few years, now, General.”

“Hm.” He paused, attention dipping to the floor and then back to you. “You may call me Armitage.”

You nodded. “Yes, sir, uh, Armitage.” Pinching your lips between your teeth, you shrugged, sitting an arm’s length from him on the bench, trying to ignore his wound. “Do you want me to look for medical supplies, or…” 

He rolled his eyes. “No.” A sharp breath left him, and he winced. “This requires more than a few pitiful salves.”

“You want to be in pain?” 

Armitage’s expression was as hard as iron, and even colder. “There are worse trials than physical pain.”

The intensity of his gaze sent goosebumps racing over your skin. You swallowed, sitting back. “Well,” you said. “I’m glad that I, uh, could help you.”

“Your reaction was impulsive and idiotic.” He held your stare for a moment, then dropped it. “But I suppose that without you, I’d be in danger of being blown up along with everyone else on that ship.”

You tried to suppress your smile. “You really think everyone’s about to get blown up?”

He sneered. “I don’t think,” he replied, “I know. Ren is a reckless fool. Pryde is too arrogant to see past his own brown nose.” Armitage settled into his seat. “Even if there was, by any measurable degree, a victory, neither of them are prepared to wield any level of power. Ren would self-destruct, and Pryde would split his own skull trying to stop it.”

A surge of attraction pulsed through you. You’d spent hours fantasizing about exactly this--sitting near Hux, hearing him speak, being entrusted with his thoughts. Yes, you’d had some verbal spats--but some part of you suspected that he liked it. A blessing. You liked it, too.

Face burning, you scooted nearer, and he hesitated, regarding you with suspicion. His eyes flickered over your frame, and after a moment, he softened. You inched toward him again, now close enough to touch his face.

“You know,” you said, looking between him and your hands, “I always thought it was ridiculous they installed Pryde as Allegiant General when they have you.”

Armitage’s lip twitched, almost imperceptibly. “It was because Ren didn’t trust me.” His gaze shifted to the wall. “But, like almost everything else he’s done since he became Supreme Leader, it’s hollow. Pryde is no less power-hungry than Ren is himself.”

You cocked your head. “How did he become Supreme Leader, anyway?”

“A coup,” he replied. He made it seem so simple--but you still couldn’t understand. Noticing your confusion, he continued. “Ren killed Leader Snoke while I was out cold. I had no say in the matter.”

“He… killed him?”

“Yes, though he fancies himself a good liar.” Armitage smirked. “Leader Snoke was just as flawed.” He finished his thought with a slight shrug. “None of those cretins have any clue how to run an effective government. The First Order would’ve tumbled into flames with any of them at the helm regardless.”

Discussing his criticisms of the Order was bringing life into his face--and you relished it. “You should’ve been Supreme Leader.”

At this, he froze. He locked you in his stare, jaw stern, brow drawn. You were paralyzed, chest tightening, mind fluttering with panic. What had you said that was so wrong? Averting his eyes, you made to distance yourself, but his hand shot out, seizing your wrist. 

He swallowed. “Say it again.”

Mouth dry, you blinked. “You… should’ve been Supreme Leader?”

A shiver rippled over his body. His lips trembled. “Say it. Again.”

“You should’ve… been Supreme Leader.”

Armitage tugged you closer, scrutinizing you, ferreting out evidence of deception. “You truly believe that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Supreme Leader should’ve been mine.”

“Yes, yes, sir.”

He brought his mouth inches from yours, examining every detail of your expression. His breath tickled warmth over your skin, his grip on your wrist crushing. “Perhaps you’re not as ignorant as I presumed,” he murmured.

“It’s about time I heard you say that,” you replied.

“Would’ve been easier to determine if you hadn’t spent all your time floundering around.”

“Says the man with multiple blaster wounds in his body.”

Armitage drew even closer. A slight shift, and your lips would meet. Your throat was thick, heart thrumming loud in your ears. If you remembered to breathe, it would have been a miracle; your full attention had focused on the angles of his face, the turbulent green of his eyes, the coppery lock of hair still crested over his forehead. Palms sweating, you went to speak--and were silenced, hungrily, by his mouth. 

A whimper escaped you, and you melted into his grip, returning the kiss with a desperation that almost embarrassed you. His teeth scraped your lower lip, his tongue fighting its way into your mouth as you moaned. Armitage was furious, voracious, consuming you like a sunburst--hot and sudden and fast. His hand moved from your wrist to your face, weaving through your hair only to tug it like reins. You squeaked in pain--and he did it again, now eliciting a wail. This would’ve, in theory, broken the kiss, but his ferocity consumed you, swallowing your cries like a storm. He nipped your lower lip again and released you with a gasp.

“Tell me you need me.”

Nodding, you replied, “I need you, Gene--”

“No,” he said. “Call me Supreme Leader.”

Heat crashed over you. “I need you,” you whispered, “ _Supreme Leader_.”

Growling, he kissed you again, attempting to push you back--but he flinched and retreated, grasping at the wound on his chest. It was only then that you were able to see how ruddy his cheeks had become, how flush with desire he appeared--and you saw, too, the tent between his legs, the evidence of _his_ need for _you_.

Armitage grunted, drawing in a long breath through his nose as he waited for the quakes of pain to subside. He looked between his hidden erection and you, pausing, before tearing at his pants, pulling free his thick, throbbing cock. It was bigger than you expected--and far prettier than you had imagined. It curved like a scimitar toward his abdomen, the head pink with blood and shiny with cum. You swallowed again, mouth watering while you pictured running your tongue along the shaft. 

Shoulders swelling with anticipation, he fisted his member, soft pants escaping his chest while he jerked himself. His eyes, glittering flames of emerald, watched you burn for it. “I can tell from looking at you that you want to suck me off,” he said. “Don’t you?”

You squeezed your thighs together, putting pressure on your aching clit. And yet, you couldn’t resist. “I don’t know,” you replied. “Are you sure you trust me with such a complicated task?”

“Don’t be a tease,” he growled.

Holding your breath, you dipped low, careful to avoid any of his wounds as you hovered over his length. “I’m not sure,” you said, and brushed your lips across the tip. “Is this how you do it, Supreme Leader?”

“Stupid girl--” Armitage hissed, clawing at your scalp. He held you still, trying to fuck up into your mouth, but his very first thrust had him keen in pain.

Snickering, you were somehow elated. “I’m just too stupid to figure out how to suck your dick, sir.” You dragged your tongue up the underside of his member, grazing your lips on the head, cleaning the drop of pre-cum that had beaded there. “Am I doing it right?”

“Brat.” He curled his fingers in your hair, driving your head down. “Be good and suck your Supreme Leader’s cock.”

With a smirk, you relented, dropping your jaw and sliding his cock into your mouth until the head hit the back of your throat. Humming against him, you wrapped your lips around the shaft and groaned, his flesh hot silk on your tongue. You felt his heartbeat thump at the base of his length, like a drum tracking his desire to cum. He controlled your movements, bobbing your head up and down, pushing you deep onto his dick and pulling you up for air. 

You focused on your breath--you wanted him to whimper, wanted for him to shudder with pleasure, wanted for him to know how long you’d dreamed of this. Twisting your neck, you fought to seek his eyes, but the angle and his grip on your hair made it impossible. Instead, you moaned--loud and lewd, slobbering globs of spit with each squelching thrust, gagging for effect, matching and exceeding the speed of his hands. Armitage tried, in vain, to slow you, but you were driven by lust, fingers wiggling between your legs to tease your clit, groaning again when your nerves lit up like lightning.

“F-fuck--” he sputtered, “slow down.” When you failed to obey, he ripped you off of his dick, and you heaved in a breath, forced to meet his gaze. “Slow. Down.”

“What is it, Supreme Leader?” You grinned, drawing your tongue over your lip. “You can’t handle me?”

Baring his teeth, Armitage said nothing, instead choosing to shove you onto your knees. His hands squeezed you steady, and he sucked in a breath before standing, a quick sob of pain escaping his chest before he rammed his cock deep into your mouth. He grunted, fucking your face, lip curling in a twist of fury and greed, watching your eyes fill with tears as drool dribbled down your chin. You retched, sniveling while you endured his onslaught, fighting to relax your throat so that you didn’t actually vomit.

“That’s right...” His voice was ragged, tattered with pleasure and pain. “Fuck… _fuck_ \--”

You slicked your fingers over your clit again, and hummed in delight, fluttering your lashes-- and somehow, this was enough. Armitage gasped, driving into you, dick twitching and pulsing on your tongue as he spilled hot cum down your throat, his legs quaking with the effort. You swallowed, waiting for him to release you--and he finally crumpled, falling into his seat, lungs gulping down air. Sweat beaded his brow, his hair mussed now beyond repair, but on his face, there was a wash of relief. Of freedom.

Wiping your mouth, you snuck a seat next to him, watching as his mind returned to the reality you both occupied. Sighing, a smirk crept onto your face. “I’d say you’re having a decent day for someone who’s been shot twice.”

Armitage glanced askance at you, but you kept your grin, too pleased with your own joke. After a moment, his facade cracked, and the hint of a smile flashed over his face. He caught himself and cleared his throat, pushing fingers through his hair.

“Well,” he said, “you’re likely not an imbecile.”

“Really!” you replied, laughing. “I’ve redeemed myself.”

His face relaxed, and he nodded. 

“You have,” he said. “You have.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had promised my very good friend Tora a fix-it fic if Hux ended up possibly biting the bullet in Episode IX. So, Tora, here you go. This is the scene that ended up on the cutting room floor, along with all of the other good parts of the movie, probably (hyuck hyuck hyuck).
> 
> I love you so much. I hope this eases your pain, a bit. And I hope any other Hux lovers enjoyed it, as well. <3


End file.
